Chapter Twenty-two
Met Office weather forecast:
The curtains of Teddy’s study were drawn tight, admitting only the faintest chinks of sun. Pat and Liz were sitting side by side in front of Teddy’s laptop. From high on the back of Teddy’s armchair Snaffles regarded the screen with steely intent.
‘Have you spoken to her?’ Liz’s voice was low. ‘Tiffany?’
‘No.’ Pat also spoke quietly. ‘I mean, I’ve not really had the chance.’ Not really had the chance because I’ve been avoiding her, she thought.
‘Remember, I’m no expert,’ said Liz. ‘I could be wrong.’
Pat shook her head. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘It all makes sense – her avoiding alcohol and looking so wan.’
Plus, she thought, seeing her on Scott Hall Road …
Three minutes on the internet had revealed to her it was close to the location of a termination clinic.
Had Tiffany arranged a termination? She was obviously pregnant now – that had to be what all the rows were about surely?
What did she want? What did Justin want?
It all seemed so huge, it felt safer – and certainly easier – to stay all the way away from it.
‘Have you mentioned anything to Rod?’ asked Liz.
Pat shook her head. ‘God no,’ she said. ‘There’s no point saying anything to him till we know something. I didn’t even tell him I was pregnant until I was cast-iron sure.’
As Thelma came in, Pat and Liz instinctively fell quiet. Discussion of all things childbirth-related was something they steered well clear of when around their friend, remembering Thelma’s own heartbreaking history of failed pregnancies.
‘Here we are,’ said Thelma, putting down a tray of glasses. She nodded at Liz. ‘Apple and mango, only three per cent sugar, which makes it a green traffic light. And I do hope it’s not too unbearable in here. I’ve had the curtains shut and the fan on all afternoon but even so …’
She jiggled the mouse and the laptop flared into life, revealing a tranquil vista of the Lake District.
At the sight Snaffles tensed and took a flying leap at the laptop only to be neatly intercepted by Thelma mid-air.
‘Goodnight, sweet prince,’ she said, depositing the cat firmly outside and shutting the door on his disgusted yowl.
‘And thanks to you both for coming here.’
‘That’s no problem,’ said Liz, sipping her drink, trying to ignore her craving for full-fat lemonade.
‘But don’t think you’re off the hook, lady,’ said Pat. ‘The minute that speed awareness course is done and dusted you’re driving us out to Masham for a cream tea.’
A faint alarm from the laptop made them look at the screen. ‘Four fifty-seven,’ said Thelma. ‘That’s our three-minute warning.’
‘Tell me again, who exactly is this Bun Widdup?’ asked Liz. ‘I mean I know she’s something to do with Lodestone Academy Trust.’
‘She’s an education consultant,’ said Thelma.
‘A passionate, committed education consultant, according to Victoria,’ said Pat. ‘With a pretty fancy website. Here.’
She brought up an image on her phone and held it out for the others to see, squinting in the dim room.
It showed a series of images of the striking woman both Pat and Thelma had seen before, smiling happily out at the world from atop a windy-looking clifftop, a restless blue sea behind her.
Cerise words arched over her head: ‘Bun Widdup Educational Vistas’.
‘I see.’ Liz sounded and looked both suspicious and wary – as she always had when any sort of consultant or inspector or adviser crossed her path.
‘She runs online courses and staff training,’ said Thelma.
‘According to Victoria,’ said Pat, ‘people tune in from all over the world. She has this studio at her home in Robin Hood’s Bay.
Hang on.’ She adjusted her phone to show the same woman in front of the background of vivid red and orange drapes against a buttermilk wall.
‘She does this podcast,’ she continued. ‘Simply Ed. I did think: here’s someone else making money out of education.
’ She adjusted the phone again and handed it to Liz. ‘Here—’
‘Children first and last,’ Liz read aloud. ‘Ditch those tick sheets.’
‘I heard her really giving Chris Canne a hard time,’ said Pat. ‘Telling him education was about more than getting schools through Ofsted inspections.’
‘She spoke very movingly at Davey Fletcher’s memorial service,’ said Thelma. ‘Chloe showed me a video of her reading out a sonnet.’ In her mind’s eye was a sudden image of that striking figure in the halo of sunlight. Fear no more the heat o’ the sun …
‘But why does she want to speak to us?’ asked Liz, breaking into the memory.
‘We’re about to find out,’ said Thelma indicating the screen, which was suddenly filled with a window declaring the meeting was about to start.
* * *
‘Pat, Thelma, Liz,’ the warm deep voice said each of the three names with a pleasant but authoritative tone.
Today Pat noted that Mrs Kohl Panda was wearing vivid shades of cyclamen – a sundress, a scarf twined round her head.
Round her neck amber beads winked in the afternoon sunlight streaming in from the right of the screen.
Bun Widdup shielded her eyes against the rays.
‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I love the sun but it can be a bit of a nuisance in summer – at this time of the afternoon, it shines straight in from the west.’ She half stood and reached for something off screen, adjusting what must have been a blind or curtain.
The sun’s glare muted to a uniform warm glow that seemed to make the red and orange drapes pulsate with colour, vivid against the sliver of wall visible behind.
‘It looks a bit on the warm side,’ said Pat.
‘No, honestly, it’s fine.’ Bun had a way of making every statement sound like a sort of stirring pronouncement.
‘We’re right on the cliffs above Robin Hood’s Bay, so there’s always some breeze going on.
’ She smiled. ‘I once worked in Kenya, believe you me what we’re experiencing now is nothing like the heat there!
Anyway, I’m blessed living in this lovely place.
These days I do all my work from home, with its sea views.
’ She looked appreciatively over to her left.
‘I wish you could see it!’ She smiled contentedly.
‘You know, I haven’t had to set foot outside of Robin Hood’s Bay for four months or so!
’ she said. ‘Gone are the days of belting up and down the country from staffroom to staffroom! Anyway—’
Now there was a crispness to that pleasant voice, a tone that unmistakably said, ‘Down to business, ladies!’ Pat found herself remembering Chris Canne nervously pulling at his collar.
‘Thank you for agreeing to see me. Especially so late on in the afternoon. I understand from Annie Golightly that you’re asking questions about the death of—’ She looked down at an iPad in front of her.
‘Neville Hilton,’ supplied Thelma.
‘The man who led the Ofsted at Pity Me school,’ said Liz.
Bun Widdup nodded. ‘Of course – apologies, it’s been a long day.
’ She yawned slightly. ‘I did speak to the gentleman myself a few times, in the course of my work,’ she said.
‘Neville Hilton was …’ she paused delicately, a frown clouding her face, ‘… someone with interesting views. However, didn’t he die of a heart attack or have I got that all wrong? ’
‘He did,’ agreed Thelma.
‘So the police say,’ put in Liz.
‘Well, he either did or he didn’t!’ There was faint laughter in her voice.
‘He did die of a heart attack,’ said Pat. ‘But he had a visitor beforehand.’
Bun frowned, nodded, as if to say ‘and?’
‘There was a lot of argy-bargy going on,’ said Liz. ‘A lot of shouting.’
‘And whoever it was, was heard saying the name of Pity Me school,’ said Pat.
Bun nodded as if light was dawning. ‘So you think this person was from the school and might have been in some way responsible?’ she asked.
‘We don’t exactly know what to think,’ said Thelma.
Again, Bun nodded. ‘And you say someone saw this confrontation?’
‘No,’ said Liz. ‘They heard it. They were in the snicket outside.’
Bun smiled at them. ‘Well, all I can say,’ she said, ‘whoever this person in the snicket is, they’ve got jolly good hearing!’ She looked at them for a long moment, allowing the point to register.
‘Okay,’ she said finally. ‘So I think I see where you were coming from. Assuming it was the name of the school this person heard being said.’ She smiled and they smiled back.
‘Suppose that someone did confront this Neville Hilton. And okay, suppose he subsequently had a heart attack? So what? I mean, it’s all very sad and tragic, but it’s not like any actual crime’s been committed? ’
Such was the sheer common sense in Bun Widdup’s tone that it was hard to disagree with her. Pat was reminded of INSET training days, when she found herself being told what she was doing was not up to scratch, and what she needed to do instead.
Hey, Mrs Kohl Panda, what do you see? I see three retired lady primary school teachers making tits of themselves!
She glanced at her friends. Thelma was frowning and Liz looked like she was on the point of apologising and ending the call.
It was Thelma who spoke. ‘Can I ask,’ she said, ‘why it was you wanted to speak to us?’
‘Cutting to the chase!’ Bun Widdup gave a merry laugh. ‘I like that! Well, it’s about Pity Me school – the late, much-lamented Pity Me school. Or rather the staff. I gather you visited there?’
‘Thelma and I did,’ said Liz.
‘Well, you don’t need me to tell you what a brutal – and I chose the word deliberately – what an absolutely brutal time they’ve all had of it recently, what with Annie, and poor Davey Fletcher and that awful Ofsted inspection and now the school closing and those lovely people being scattered to the four winds.
I just can’t but help feel a bit protective of them.
As someone who’s worked with them, I’m telling you, ladies, the very last thing they need is a lot of questions about some deceased Ofsted inspector. ’
The three nodded in silence.
Bun nodded back, satisfied her point had been made, then picked up her tablet.
‘So, this all happened … Neville Hilton died on’ – again Bun looked at her iPad – ‘Friday June the 13th?’
Thelma nodded. ‘He did.’
The contralto voice sharpened with excitement and interest. ‘And does anyone know about what time exactly he was reckoned to have died?’
‘About seven o’clock,’ supplied Liz.
Bun nodded. She almost looked relieved.
‘I just wanted to be sure,’ she said. ‘I think I might be able to help you there. You heard there was a memorial service that day for Davey Fletcher?’
The three nodded.
‘You spoke at the memorial,’ said Thelma.
Now Bun nodded. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I knew Davey Fletcher quite well. As I said just now, I’ve done a fair bit of work with the school over the years.
Not that I could tell them anything.’ There was a sudden bleak sorrow haunting those features and despite the halo of sun and the vibrant colours of the drapes, it was as if a frost had fallen.
‘Annie was – is – a phenomenal leader. It was more a case of me saying “here’s somewhere that’s getting it right!
” As my old tutor at Bretton used to say, “Good news needs to be shared!” And she was dead right.
Pity Me was a school people needed to see.
But I digress.’ Her voice regained its customary crisp energy. ‘You say Mr Hilton died around 7 p.m.?’
The three nodded.
‘And this was in—?’
‘A place called Hollinby Quernhow,’ said Liz. ‘It’s about nine miles from Thirsk.’
The woman on the screen bowed her head in affirmation and touched her keyboard.
‘I’m going,’ Bun Widdup said, ‘to share a couple of pictures.’ All at once the screen was filled with two images, obviously the screenshot from a Zoom call.
One of the images was Bun Widdup as Thelma had seen her on Chloe’s phone, earrings afire and vibrantly red against the backdrop of the African print.
The other larger one showed the room Thelma remembered from her visit to Pity Me, the school library.
It was full of assembled staff. At the front were Annie, Chloe, Caro Miranda; at the back of the room was Son Masters.
All four of them were sporting bright yellow paper flowers.
‘Davey Fletcher’s memorial service,’ said Bun. ‘Friday June 13th. As you already know, I Zoomed in; it was way too far for me to come, as at this time of year it takes me a good hour plus to get anywhere, pretty much. But anyway – I want you to have a look at the clock on the wall.’
Pat, Liz and Thelma squinted at the clock visible on the back wall of the library. It was showing a little before six thirty.
‘About half an hour before Mr Hilton died,’ said Bun. ‘So, you see there’s no way it could have been anyone in that picture who shouted at him. At six thirty they were all listening to me – and I’d say it’s impossible to get from Pity Me to Thirsk in half an hour.’
‘I feel,’ said Pat, ‘like we’ve been ticked off, in the nicest possible way.’
Her friends didn’t immediately respond. There was something about Bun Widdup’s energy, even over Zoom, which left them all feeling slightly subdued.
‘What she told us,’ said Thelma eventually, ‘it changes things.’
Liz nodded. ‘With the clock and the time stamp,’ she said, ‘There’s no getting away from it. None of them could have driven over to Hollinby in the time after the service.’
‘Unless one of them has a TARDIS,’ agreed Pat. ‘Which means they’re all ruled out – Son, Caro, Chloe, Annie—’
Thelma nodded. ‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘we’ve taken six almighty steps back.
’ She stood up and opened the door. Immediately Snaffles shot in and leapt territorially onto the keyboard.
Absently Thelma scooped him up and deposited him onto the floor, where he stalked over to the curtains, which he clawed in an affronted manner admitting a chink of light as strong as a spotlight.
Thelma frowned.
‘What?’ said Pat.
She shook her head as if trying to clear her ears. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There was something – just for a second – but it’s gone.’
‘What?’ echoed Liz.
‘I don’t know,’ said Thelma again.